


a little back & forth

by amoment



Category: Billions (TV)
Genre: Autistic Winston (Billions), Character Study, Multi, Polyamory, Sex, TMC Polycule, Winston (Billions) Gets Pegged, i guess, ig it's explicit if it's a whole sex scene and nads aren't just referred to via discreet pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29284587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoment/pseuds/amoment
Summary: But, then again, isn't that real confidence? To be nervous, but act like you're not, or—no, that's just putting up a front, and he does that all the time, and it's hardly guaranteed to be the right thing to do, which he knows from extensive experience, and oh my god, if he gets caught up in this line of thought it is not going to help.
Relationships: Rian/Winston (Billions), Taylor Mason/Winston
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	a little back & forth

Winston's entirely ready for Taylor to top him, but they've been so devoted to kissing and kissing him and he's in no hurry to interrupt this. It's only a bonus that this has meant he doesn't have to worry about where he's looking or what to do with his hands—although it's not like he'd put it past Taylor to have as much in mind while providing him this preoccupation. Having Rian at the foot of the bed has Winston undeniably self-conscious. It's manageable, a background simmer of anxiety at worst, but one he hasn't yet been able to shake.

  
It's okay, though. They've all had many prior involved discussions in preparation for this, varying in length and focus and granularity and combinations of participants. Lauren knows this is happening right now, of course, as deciding on logistics like "when" and "where" had sure been part of it all, but Winston also made sure to share that, although he wanted to do this, he was still nervous, and would probably be nervous while it was happening. He'd told Taylor and Rian he might be tense, or want to lie back for the whole thing, or be weird about eye contact (whether more or less of it would help he couldn't say; Rian offered to bring an elastic headband if a blindfold would help, and one's on the nightstand now beside the rest of the collection of supplies), or be anxiously talkative, or overly quiet, and would it be a problem if he left all the work up to Taylor, or if he was too nervous to outright acknowledge Rian's presence, or if he ended up wanting things to progress really slowly once they were actually getting into it? Naturally, at no point did they say: yes, it _would_ be too much of a problem if any reaction to this new situation was distinct from his usual behavior during sex. Of course they understood his predictions of anxiety, they knew him, and he knew they knew they might _all_ be nervous, and it went without saying that at any point they could call it off before or during their first try at this—but they said it anyway. Which was why Winston kept saying ways he might act weird. He knew he didn't _need_ to; it was more the principle of sharing thoughts even without it being demanded by a sense it was urgent or even necessary.

  
He also doesn't _need_ to ask Taylor if they'd like to lie down now. Sure, they've only had one arm free to help prop their body overtop his, the other kept down between his legs. But they can also take a break at any time they want. He can keep lying here quietly, being kissed by them, consciously pacing his own breathing, and if Taylor eventually needs to rest, they will, and they'll go from there. He doesn't need to speak, or move from this spot. But none of them _need_ to be doing any of this; it's hardly the point.

  
It's also hard to find any point in time while being attentively kissed and fingered by Taylor where he could want to stop, so he just goes ahead on impulse when they pull away for a few deep breaths.

  
"We coul—" He's started out too quiet and his murmur almost dropped to a whisper. It's fine, just try again: "We could flip over. Soon. If you want."

  
They look at each other a moment. Taylor raises their eyebrows a degree, inviting any elaboration.

  
"I'm ready, and...you could take a break, while I..."

  
Taylor presses their fingers a little further inside him and crooks them. A resultant flurry of small spasms jolt through his legs and abs and shoulders. Taylor says something; it takes him an extra second or two to process it.

  
"You want to?" they've asked. 

  
"...I think so."

  
Taylor sits up. They turn their wrist now, slowly rotating their fingers, still watching his face. Even with his gaze trained on theirs, they're much too far away to kiss, and his field of vision is much less obscured. It's that much more noticeable that Rian's there in his peripheral at the opposite corner of the bed. Her face is demarcated by her hair—turned right towards him. He's known she's been looking at him the whole time, that's kind of the point of this, but—

  
He closes his eyes and focuses on breathing. Keeping relaxed.

  
"...Give me a minute and I'll be ready," Taylor says, placing their free hand on his thigh. Their palm is warm and their voice is steady. 

  
He nods and they carefully slide their fingers from him. He hears them pull off the latex glove and feels the shift in the mattress at the removal of their weight. 

  
He blinks his eyes open and stares straight up at the ceiling, vaguely seeing Taylor's movement beside him as they stoop forward to step into the harness. On his other side—Rian's head and torso remain unfocused in his field of vision, a glance away. And Taylor's mattress is so vast and soft that he can't feel any of Rian's movement but he can see this even, periodic rise and fall of her shoulder, the contrast of her skin and her slate blue tank top, and if he'd look over at her now he _knows_ it would be so nice to see the flush of her face and lock eyes with her and he _does_ want to look over but he's _still_ nervous. If this was just him and Taylor, he wouldn't be quiet and unmoving like this unless he needed the rest, too—he'd be helping them put on their strap, touching them, touching himself, and surely that sort of thing would be a better show for Rian right now, but here he is, just lying back, waiting.

  
A clasp snaps into place and he closes his eyes again and tries to redirect his focus onto what's about to happen. Three more clasps fastened. The packaging of a condom tearing open. Then the click of a plastic cap. It's not difficult to lean into his anticipation rather than his repetitive fretting.

  
He doesn't open his eyes again until Taylor's fingers brush the side of his face, running through his hairline. They're already leaning in a degree as they look at him, and, like with Rian, he sees the rhythmic motion of their shoulder as they work the lube over their dick for him. They glance between his eyes and now their hand is cupping his jaw. They smile softly before leaning in the rest of the way and Winston tilts his head back and they kiss, and when Taylor takes his erection in hand he does not keep still or quiet. They kiss him deeper while stroking him and he's grabbed at the sheets, one leg's pushed out, his hips finding Taylor's rhythm with small, sharp jerks, useless twitches in one elbow and wrist as he moans into their mouth, brief and clipped at the end like confused surprise. 

  
He's just intractibly like this—unless the pace is particularly languid and relaxed, or unless a certain height of arousal has been reached, his physical reactions don't tend to be measured or smooth. He's all fits and starts: twitches and jerks and sudden whimpers as he navigates approximating the potential to be overwhelmed and the way this sensitivity can escalate his pleasure. Some past partners have mistaken strong reactions as pain or aversion, and some have been annoyed by his inability to consistently suppress himself into adequate suavity and grace, but Rian and Taylor are hardly encountering this for the first time. Taylor simply moves with him, following him or giving way as need be.

  
He evens out soon enough, and so do they, pressing a few short, gentle kisses to his mouth and then cheek before pulling away. Then their hands are against the mattress on either side of his shoulders and they're swinging their leg across him, and now he's looking up at them as they kneel over his thighs. They raise their eyebrows, cueing him for their question: "Do you still want to flip?"

  
He considers this.

  
Rian's still and quiet in his periphery; it takes some effort to pick out her exhales from his and theirs. Both she and Taylor are simply patiently waiting for what he wants to do. 

  
Nothing bad is going to happen.

  
He nods. 

  
They move together, practiced. Taylor rolls onto their back and now Winston's the one swinging a leg over theirs, following that momentum with his torso. He waits for them to relax against the mattress before he carefully settles his weight across their lap, straddling them with his hands resting on his thighs; he straightens his back.

  
They're both closer to the middle of the bed now. Closer to Rian, now just a few feet beside and slightly behind him. She's not in his field of vision at all from this position. 

  
He gazes down at Taylor instead, who's looking back at him with a faint smile. It occurs to him that all their continuous focus on him could've been for both his and their benefit—although, of course, Rian could be nervous about being looked at, too. That would certainly be an excuse for him to act like nothing's different from any other time he and Taylor have fucked: it's simply the safest, most predictable way to approach this.

  
He reminds himself he'd told them both that he might not look at Rian, or even acknowledge her presence at all. They both said it was okay. And just like Taylor could've asked for a break at any time, Rian could speak up if she needs something, too. She's here because she wants to be—they all are.

  
Taylor's skin is warm against his. 

  
He's here because he wants to be here, and that's sure still true.

  
He doesn't want to stop.

  
He shifts back and forth by a few millimeters, grinding lightly against Taylor. He focuses on what it'll feel like when Taylor's inside him, when he's on his back and they've found their position and rhythm and can thrust into him while all he has to do is grip the sheets and their shoulders and let his pleasure flow through him.

  
He dips forward enough to put his forehead against their shoulder and lifts his pelvis up. Taylor places one hand on his waist and one on his back; Winston reaches behind himself and finds the base of their dick and holds it steady.

  
He knows what he's doing, and everything's fine.

  
His legs are tense as he gradually lowers his hips. Taylor rubs their thumb against his shoulderblade and brushes a kiss against his hair; Winston takes a deep breath and turns his head slightly, nuzzling his nose and brow into the crook of Taylor's neck. Their hand slides up to the nape of his neck and the other moves to touch the wrist of Winston's free hand. He takes it. Their fingers interlace. 

  
He keeps his face hidden against their warm skin, his deep, measured breaths washing across their chest, and tightens his grip on their hand before carefully pressing back against the end of their dick. His hand twitches in theirs and he bites the side of his tongue while determinedly keeping the rest of his body relaxed. He eases a millimeter or two inside himself, draws a long inhale, a millimeter further, no need to rush anything—

  
He hears a clear, hitched gasp from Rian and pushes down slightly harder than he meant to in a typically uneven reaction: his nails press against Taylor's hand in surprise and his shoulders twitch up as he presses his face harder against the side of their neck, nudging their head further to the side. He stills, then deliberately relaxes again.

  
"Sorry," he whispers. His heartbeat thumps through his torso.

  
Taylor just squeezes his hand in theirs and moves the other to the underside of his thigh, lending some support.

  
"You're fine," they murmur in reply. "I'm fine."

  
So he keeps hiding against them, curled in over them, keeping tight hold of their hand. His knees are pressed against Taylor's sides; he's holding himself so firmly in place, but part of the point of him being on top like this is he could be using gravity to help himself ease fully down onto them. But to do that, he'll need to sit upright, and lift his face away from their body, and just manage to be relaxed about the fact that Rian is watching him, and Taylor is watching him, and...is he going to have to be nervous about this the entire time? He knows from experience that it's difficult to be preoccupied with much else once Taylor's fucking him in earnest, but this is a new situation. But it _isn't,_ because there's nothing new about Taylor or Rian seeing him like this, watching him being fucked, but there _is_ — _they_ were the ones fucking him, no one else sitting back and watching, anytime before this Rian's had something else to do, it didn't have to be _all_ about the mere sight of him.

  
He takes a moment to again walk himself through a reminder: Rian wanted to do this, and so did Taylor, and so did he. And here they are, and nothing's actually gone wrong. And his being nervous is nothing he can't handle. So he ought to keep going.

  
So he focuses in on breathing in an effort to ground himself. He can keep going. 

  
"Are you alright?" Taylor asks quietly. They stroke the back of his hand with their thumb and gently knead at his thigh. "Tell me if you need a break, or if you just need a minute."

  
They're not making a general statement, they're asking him this. They tend to avoid phrasing things as a yes-or-no question for him. There's no pressure to give either simple answer as quickly as possible; it's expected that he'll have to think about what he wants to say, and they'll let him take however much time he needs in the process.

  
"...I'm fine," he tells them. "I'm just taking a second, yeah." 

  
"Okay." 

  
They kiss his head, then squeeze his hand in a ripple from pinkie to thumb, then move their grip on his thigh a little further up and brush their forehead against his temple.

  
"Take all the time you want to—" They place a light kiss in his hair. "Do anything you need to do."

  
He nods against them.

  
He spends the next half minute, maybe full minute, simply breathing and focusing on the feeling of his body against Taylor's. Every now and again he picks up on a particularly intense breath from Rian, and he lets the accompanying thrill pass through him, maybe manifesting in a slightly more forceful exhale from him as well. It's okay that he's nervous and keeps needing to handle all of this consciously and carefully. He's dealt with partners who've been impatient, even frustrated with him, and Rian and Taylor have never responded like that. He has no reason to worry they'll become annoyed, and he knows they want to be here, with him, like this, right now.

  
He bites his lower lip and pushes a little more of Taylor's length inside himself. Breathes, grips their hand—a little more. He takes his time. He drags his teeth against the base of Taylor's jaw in soft approximation of a bite and places kisses against the side of their throat—the longer they spend like this, the longer Taylor's simply resting against the mattress, and he hopes they're holding up in terms of weathering any anxiety themself, and that receiving affection just enhances the situation for them in general. They're so considerate of him and it gives him this refreshing sense of security and warmth and gratitude, and that's just one aspect of everything he appreciates about them. He could stay here like this, folded over against them, kissing their skin, for as long as it takes to ease them inside himself.

  
He _could_ just stay like this.

  
But he doesn't have to decide anything right now. He can just incrementally continue with the task at hand and see how he feels once he's done with it. For now, the effort of consciously relaxing and breathing through this is enough to preoccupy him. He could surely take this faster, but there's no need to rush—until at one point he has to pause to breathe through a mild sting, and Taylor slips their hand between their bodies and rubs their palm against his erection. He gasps and arches to give them room and they don't miss a beat, taking advantage of this to increase the pressure for him. He tightens the handhold and deliberately keeps himself from rocking his hips into their touch and it's enough to make him whimper a few times between panting breaths. They ease off after just a few seconds into light, teasing contact, and the brush of their thumb against the head of his dick on top of this little rush of arousal they've just given him of _course_ has him wanting _more._

  
Winston mouths at their neck as he presses back further onto their dick and when they turn their head slightly to the side for him he bites at their skin, harder than before—they sigh luxuriously and tilt their hips towards him, pressing further into him, and it sends a jolt of delight radiating from his chest into his throat and stomach. He huffs a few heavy exhales against their skin and squeezes their hand in his yet again and he kisses and bites their neck as he takes them further in; they're moving their hand from his erection to his stomach and chest and then they're wrapping that arm around him, hand sliding up to the back of his neck, gently scratching their fingertips through his hairline. He whines quietly and lifts his head a couple of inches, half-opening his eyes as he seeks out their mouth. They're smiling; when he kisses them they give a small hum that he knows is a laugh and run their fingertips up to his scalp and back down to his nape, and he shivers and laughs against their mouth, too.

  
A little further, a little more, and—

  
He pushes himself up a few inches and hovers there, panting. He can see everywhere he's kissed Taylor; they look pleased and relaxed and they offer him another slight smile as they gaze unwaveringly back up at him. 

  
"Okay," he says.

  
Taylor raises their eyebrows in question.

  
"I'm gonna move and...I'll be sitting upright," he clarifies—for both of them.

  
Taylor nods.

  
"Well...I'm gonna try it," he amends. His words slow to a deliberate, almost halting pace. "I'm about to _try_ sitting upright."

  
"...Okay." Taylor's voice is low and even. "What should I do?"

  
"Um—" Winston catches himself before he starts talking without knowing what he wants to say. Better to stay silent for a few moments and collect his thoughts; Taylor won't try interrupting that process.

  
Taylor does wait. They move their hands to his waist and trace circles on his hipbone with their thumb. That draws some of his focus, but it sort of helps: he doesn't get caught up in some loop of _think of an answer think of an answer_ —he thinks about how Taylor is here, and how he wants to keep going, and how it's going to feel.

  
"Just keep lying down," he finally answers. "You don't need to move; I'll move. I've got it."

  
He looks at them and they nod again, the corner of their mouth shifting into a smile. It prompts an uneven smile from him in turn, and their quick, gentle squeeze at his waist almost tickles. He drops his head with a soft laugh and closes his eyes.

  
"...Okay."

  
"Okay."

  
He moves before he can get stuck in his head. Opens his legs a little further to give himself a wider base of support. Inches his feet back in anticipation of the impending shift of his center of gravity. Places his hands on his knees, takes a few breaths, and lifts himself up and back until he's kneeling over Taylor's pelvis, hips suspended a few inches over theirs, holding himself in place with tensed thighs and abs. He adjusts his posture: straightened small of back, shoulders relaxed, lifting his chin. If he'd opened his eyes, he'd be looking at the wall above the headboard.

  
His weight is already easing a fraction of Taylor's length further inside him. The girth will be consistent all the way to the base, all he has to do is slowly lower himself the rest of the way. All that could go wrong is if he somehow takes so long that he gets worn out supporting himself like this, and in that case, he'd only have to lean forward again to rest on his arms. 

  
He's got this. 

  
He relaxes with his inhales, letting himself sink down, pauses with his slow exhales and focuses on the feeling of what's already inside him. He knows this, and he loves this, and it's easier and easier as he goes. He's seated flush against Taylor's body before he knows it, and takes a few moments before carefully relaxing into it—he doesn't want to just drop his weight onto them all at once.

  
When he's finally _there,_ he touches his fingertips to the mattress on either side of him and lets his head tip just a little further back as he lets up on the regulation of his breathing. Taylor glides their hands up his thighs and he rolls his hips minutely, just enough to feel them even more acutely.

  
All it is now is spending some time just like this. He'll get to the point that he's used to this full penetration and wants more, but right now is for adjusting to the sensation, and enjoying it, too. Appreciating this intensity, because he can, because he's managed it every step of the way and guided himself well clear of anything overwhelming. Which includes—

  
Rian's not directly to his left, but still closer to it than when he was curled forward across Taylor. He can distinguish her breathing more easily—now that he's tuned in to it. And he's obviously fine, he's probably already been this proximate to her for a minute or two, which...that's kind of a long time to have spent not moved or speaking or even looking at anyone.

  
That last part should be easy to change: just look at Taylor, like he's been doing. It'll be fine. It'll be _good,_ actually, seeing them lying there beneath him, focusing on him because they _want_ to. He'll just take, say, ten more inhales and then simply do that.

  
He's soon thinking that he maybe should've just picked five breaths. This is taking weirdly a while and he's more conscious than before of just _not doing anything._ He's also conscious that rushing the pace of his breathing wouldn't help him stay relaxed, or with anything else.

  
7,

  
8,

  
9, 

  
10.

  
He finds Taylor's gaze at once. God, it's so much to see them while feeling the pressure of their dick inside him, and feeling their hands against his skin, and their body under his, feeling them breathe while seeing each breath's movement in their chest and parted lips—again the arousal moves through him in a jolt, making his breath and muscles jump. His spine arches towards them in a twitch and he squeezes one hand into a fist and his shoulders jerk forwards as if he's about to huddle in on himself; all as awkward and nervous as he supposes he often is, but Taylor's unfazed. Their only reaction is to trail a hand over the curve of his thigh and slide it up to the side of his stomach, slowly rubbing up and down as they glance between his eyes. Their expression is open, eyes bright, blush deep, focused so keenly on him that he could shiver with the excitement of it. There's such _intention_ that he can't doubt their enthusiasm for this.

  
"Sorry I—" He's talking before he can stop himself or actually think about what he's even talking _for,_ besides that he just got a kick from all the visual evidence of Taylor's enjoyment. And now he's already here, midsentence, entirely aware it's weird to be apologizing for nothing on impulse and also weird that he's just looking at them, mouth open in anticipation of speaking further without actually doing so—

  
"You okay?" Taylor asks quietly. Winston quickly nods.

  
"Yeah, I was just thinking that I'm, uh, sorry I'm taking a while..." A nervous, reflexive smile tugs the right corner of his mouth.

  
Taylor offers a steadier smile in return.

  
"You can take as much time as you want." They say it deliberately enough it's clear they mean it.

  
Winston blinks a few times and nods.

  
Then Taylor slides their hands to his hips and pointedly drops their gaze down across his body, taking their own time reestablishing eye contact. They raise their eyebrows a millimeter and quirk their smile.

  
"I get to lie here and look at you, after all," they tease.

  
It shouldn't get to him, but he drops his head towards one shoulder with the burst of a half-stifled giggle. Taylor hums their own quiet laugh and he even hears that telltale uneven exhale through the nose from Rian.

  
"...Really," Taylor says quietly. "Don't think I'm not enjoying myself, here."

  
They tilt their hips and shift inside him; it makes his breath hitch.

  
"There you go..." Their voice has dropped to a murmur. "You can stay there as long as you want."

  
He responds with a few habitual fidgets at once, running a hand through his hair and taking the inside of his lip between his teeth and tapping his fingertips against the sheets before giving another nod.

  
Of course Taylor's not bothered by lying here a few minutes—letting them rest is part of the whole point, and not like they need to rush through this, or should, and of course he'd just _thought_ he might be messing up somehow because he's just too much in his own head. Although, in most situations he can just tell himself that nobody's even paying that much attention to him, and that anything he's embarrassed about will be quickly forgotten by everyone else, but right now everyone involved _is_ very much paying attention to him, specifically, and the situation is a little more vulnerable than most others. He can hardly be surprised at himself for _still_ being somewhat nervous, and....

  
And that's why he brought up as much well before this situation was actually unfolding, of course, and Rian and Taylor told him it was fine that he'd probably be nervous, and that any of them might be nervous, and they could stop at any point, or back out entirely if need be. Nobody had said they'd be annoyed or impatient or consider everything ruined if he acted a way they'd both seen him act enough times before, of _course_...and right now he _knows_ things are good, and they're all enjoying this, and he _wants_ to keep going, he really does. 

  
And he's still, somehow, nervous. 

  
But, then again, isn't that real confidence? To be nervous, but act like you're not, or—no, that's just putting up a front, and he does that all the time, and it's hardly guaranteed to be the right thing to do, which he knows from extensive experience, and _oh my god,_ if he gets caught up in this line of thought it is _not_ going to help. 

  
Besides, he's pretty sure he's actually thinking of real courage, or something. To be scared but do something anyways. You don't fake confidence—well, you _can,_ but again, it's not the time to go down that mental track, it's really never the time—and doing shit you're anxious about while you're still actually anxious is probably just...being anxious. Being confident is about just actually having the real confidence in the first place and not worrying about something going wrong or people's disapproval because you've never had to worry about it or you know you're capable enough that that _makes_ it so you don't have to worry about it, and if you have to think about being confident, it's too late, you don't have it. He can't just sit here and plumb his own psyche for some workaround to alchemize genuine confidence. 

  
So how does he get past this? He sure _wants_ to settle this background noise of nervousness, and he really, truly _knows_ there's no reason for it, but this somehow just isn't _enough_ —typical.

  
He can't just choose to stop being nervous and he can't just muster confidence. But he shouldn't just ignore this and tell Taylor to get back on top and fuck him into the mattress and hope to get out of his head that way. (Probably.) So...what does he do?

  
He looks at Taylor. They're already looking back at him. 

  
"I'm kind of nervous, still," he admits. 

  
Taylor blinks.

  
"...Okay," they say softly. "What could help?"

  
"We don't need to stop or anything, I'm okay, but I..." 

  
He rolls his shoulders forward in approximation of a shrug and smiles with a shake of the head.

  
"It's fine, I wanna keep going, but I'm...trying to figure out what _would_ help. Because I've been trying to stop being nervous, because I'm _fine,_ but I'm..." Only completely failing at it.

  
And now he's probably just generated more cause for tension, because communication is very well and good, but letting himself anxiously chatter away isn't exactly worth calling "communication," and he always does better when he's taken time to think about what he's going to say instead of being driven by the most on-edge, unfiltered, insecure parts of himself, or else he's realized he doesn't know what to say or that he doesn't have time to figure it out or that saying anything at all will make things worse, in which case he'll give up entirely and lapse into silence in the hopes of all attention being averted from him—right now he's already gone and thoughtlessly talked, and Rian and Taylor aren't exactly about to forget that he's here. 

  
But maybe it'd help if they did, because—

  
If no one was looking at him—he'd be fine, in that case. But...if that _actually_ happened right now, being ignored would feel like shit. Except—it's also often so much _safer_ for him. But then, he usually only wishes he was ignored when he's _already_ had cause to feel like shit. Being ignored from the start...also just feels like shit. 

  
So all he's got is _be ignored, feel like shit_ and _feel like shit, be ignored_ and he needs to have _something else_ to draw from here, because that loop is _not_ helpful, but he doesn't really _have_ anything else. He needs to have more confidence than he does, but to have more confidence he needs to just...already have that confidence. He can't start having it just because he _wants_ to be having it—evidenced by the mounting uncertainty freezing him up right now.

  
He has to explain that he's bringing this issue into everything because he had some amount of anxiety going into this, and that's okay, but he can't possibly shake it because he just...doesn't have the confidence and he can't just summon it if it wasn't there from the start. And he just has to figure out what the hell he _can_ do right now to just shake himself into alignment here and stop with these starts and stops—if only it were all starts. He has to start _only_ starting and simply keep going. Stop interrupting his own momentum. It would be easier like that—but here he is, managing to get in his own way, and he has no clue how to do this right because so far all he's done is keep getting stuck in his own head, just like right now, for the thousandth time—

  
"Winston?"

  
He reflexively turns towards her voice while simultaneously tensing up, and the net result is him only moving enough to bring Rian back into his peripheral vision. The difference in their proximity now versus when he was lying down becomes even more obvious.

  
"You know, I can let you guys finish, if that'd help," she continues. "Alone."

  
Winston tenses, staring at the wall across from himself.

  
"You don't have to—you..."

  
"Yeah, no, I know," she says. "I'm just saying that I can. I mean, if it's just you guys, you'd probably have an easier time relaxing without knowing I'm, like, _right here._ That makes sense."

  
This is—that _does_ make sense, and he _has_ been too anxious to even look at Rian beyond a few quick glances towards the very start of things, but...

  
"Wait," he gets out. "I know I've been... Sorry I haven't been looking at you at all, I've _wanted_ to—"

  
"No, you don't have to," Rian jumps in. "You don't have to look at me at all, don't worry. It's totally fine."

  
Taylor begins tracing small circles on Winston's thigh with their thumb, light and slow. 

  
Winston lets out a breath and winds a fist into the sheets. 

  
He doesn't want to stop, and he doesn't want to push ahead if he doesn't feel ready, and he can't work out how to feel ready, but, faced with it now, he's sure he doesn't want Rian to go.

  
"Rian," he starts. 

  
"Mmhm?"

  
"... _Can_ I look at you?"

  
There's a pause—which has to be expected, he probably delivered that weirdly, as is pretty usual. It's probably additionally weird for him to have asked in the first place.

  
"...Yeah, if you want to," she answers. "You don't have to, though, I really mean that."

  
"I know. But...would you want me to? I mean, is it okay?" 

  
"Yeah, it's okay. If you want to. Go ahead."

  
He goes ahead.

  
Rian blinks a few times and takes a deep breath, apparently thrown. He should've said he was going to go ahead _now_ instead of just doing so with no warning, but—

  
Yeah, okay, looking at her is so fucking good. Of course he should've been doing it this whole time.

  
He squeezes his legs closer against Taylor's sides and rocks back slightly onto them, breaths coming more unsteadily as he and Rian hold eye contact. His twitchiness reverberates through him again, jerking at his shoulders and elbows. 

  
"Is it okay if I kiss you?" Rian asks. Winston nods immediately. "Is that o—?" 

  
She's turned to look at Taylor; he looks too and catches their own nod towards her.

  
"Here," she breathes, and she gets up on her knees to shift closer, and she leans in and places her hands on either side of his jaw and then presses her mouth to his.

  
The hair that's fallen in her face is now falling across his and her one hand is wet against his skin. He whines in his throat and presses harder into the kiss. He follows for a few millimeters when she pulls away, then feels her nose and lips against his skin as she places a gentle but lingering kiss to his cheekbone. 

  
She leans back, smiling warmly, then reaches up and brushes some hair over his forehead aside, a gesture of affection she's regularly given him since the first night spent together in bed. His reaction to it is like a slight squeeze just beneath the sternum.

  
"Okay..." he says slowly. "So...I think it helps actually seeing Rian."

  
Her laugh manifests as the brightening of her smile.

  
"Here," she says. "How about...Taylor, what if I like, lie down, too, here on this end?"

  
"Sure," they say quietly. "Winston?"

  
Both of them are looking to him for his answer. Instead of this combined focus sparking anxiety, it brings a noticeable amount of relief.

  
"Yeah...I think that'd be great, actually."

  
So Rian settles in, lying back parallel to Taylor with a contented sigh, hair spilled against the pillow. She looks back at him and quirks another smile.

  
"So hows this?" she asks casually. "How're you feeling?"

  
He nods. "...Pretty good."

  
"That's good," she echoes. "And you know you can change your mind again. However many times you want."

  
"Yeah," Winston answers quietly. "Thanks."

  
"No need to thank me," she says, and her laugh is audible this time.

  
She holds eye contact while slipping her hand down past the waistband of her sweatpants. Winston's reaction shivers through him. His inhale hitches repeatedly, unevenly, and he grips the top of his thighs as his legs twitch sharply enough that, before he can stop himself, he lifts half an inch and drops back down—Taylor gives a small cry of surprise and grasps onto his hips.

  
He looks over to them through a few rapid blinks and stammers an apology, tensing up to quiesce.

  
"No—no, it's fine—" 

  
They sound a little breathless, and he worries he's winded them by shoving against their abdomen like that, but then they readjust and tighten their grip and they're pulling him firmly down against themself. Winston goes with it, slowly settling more of his weight over them, and then—

  
Taylor rolls their hips up into him and he grabs their arms. Taylor lightens their movement at that, but Winston just grinds back against them to make up for it and then some, asking for more. Taylor complies.

  
"Fuck—" Rian exhales lightly. She brings one foot up closer to her hips, pivoting that leg outwards. "God, Winston, just look at you..." 

  
Both she and Taylor do, and Winston can only glance between them both, too flustered to attempt any verbal response. Taylor moves their hands up to his waist and rocks harder up into him with a tight, precise oscillation—he jolts and is immediately moving right along with them. For a moment his breaths come strained and sharp like sobs and then, god, Rian's grinding against her own hand almost in sync with his and Taylor's rhythm, and one moment of eye contact with her in combination with Taylor's knowledgably precise force and angle is more than enough to shoot a few spasms through him. He drops forward, propping himself up with one hand by Taylor's shoulder and crossing the other arm across his face, pressing his brow against the crook of his elbow.

  
Taylor embraces this new angle, literally and figuratively, wrapping an arm around his back and deepening the stroke of their thrusts into him. His arousal is already bound to spill over in another paroxysm of tense, abrupt motion—except that it hasn't, and then it doesn't. And without that sensory burnoff, he's simply getting more and more worked up with every moment this continues. 

  
As if they can sense this—and he's sure they can—Taylor pulls his pelvis closer to theirs. Winston squeezes his eyes shut with a weak " _Fuck,_ Taylor," and that's when he hears a shaky inhale of Rian's—it all flows through him with no hitches or snags and without missing a beat he's fucking himself harder, his head dropping nearly against Taylor's chest. The pleasure stokes a whine that soon deepens into a low groan.

  
He only lets himself indulge in a few more seconds before he has to slow down; he has no interest in overwhelming himself too soon. But he hardly wants to completely back off, either—he settles into a more easygoing pace, moving with Taylor's smooth reciprocation. 

  
"Good," they breathe. "You're so good..."

  
He gasps and his exhale is a soft moan. He slides his hand up their torso as he leans in to kiss them—they respond with enthusiasm, repeatedly meeting his tongue with theirs for the texture he enjoys so much. When he has to pull away to catch his breath, he punctuates it with one more quick, soft kiss to their cheek, then pushes himself up to better look at them.

  
Taylor's striking: softly panting, flushed down to the shoulders, body shifting minutely against the bed from their own slow movement, eyes closed as though they're still experiencing the kiss. Then they blink up at the ceiling, and when their eyes meet his, Winston moves on impulse, taking their hand and lacing his fingers with theirs. They stroke their thumb across his knuckle. He tries to convey some of the steadiness he can feel right now. They deserve to have some of it come back around to them.

  
Whatever he's imparting, they give him a soft smile.

  
Winston looks over at Rian. She's already looking back at him and doesn't try to hide it, holding his gaze, maintaining her own rhythm. She tilts her head slightly to the side with an accompanying lopsided smile. The usual asymmetry of his own smile mirrors hers.

  
He looks back to Taylor; they lift their eyebrows.

  
He mouths it a couple of times before he says it, like he’s warming up. It's fine, it helps.

  
"Fuck me." It's barely over a whisper. 

  
Taylor's hand tightens in his.

  
"Like this?" they ask quietly. "Or should we move?"

  
"...On my back," he answers. 

  
They've done this so many times that he doesn't have to consciously walk through any steps as Taylor sits up and pivots around with him, carefully maneuvering together until they can simply settle into place with the help of gravity. Taylor presses their hips right up against him and he wraps himself around them, hugging them close.

  
Grinding against Taylor while they hold him, caught up in a heady kiss, he manages to pull one clinging arm from Taylor's shoulders and reach vaguely towards Rian. She takes that hand at once, brings it in, and kisses his fingers.

  
He tells Taylor he's ready. There's nothing uncertain about it.

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you say "i should take advantage of my willingness to write a sex scene" a nonzero amount of times until you write a sex scene with gratuitous grammatical flair as your first completed writing project in years <3


End file.
